I watch as he heads into the bathroom, leaving the door open as an invitation, but I’m too comfy lying here to move. Instead, I watch him step into the shower, tracing every inch of his body as water cascades over him. My eyes roam over him, taking in every inch, every sharp angle. He catches me watching him and smirks.
I shrug. “Fair’s fair. You watched me.”
“Andoh,how I loved it.”
“Gonna put on a show for me too?” I ask, silently praying that he does.
He slowly reaches down and grips his cock, dragging his hand back and forth slowly down his length. I stare transfixed. Watching him touching himself is probably more erotic than me doing it myself. I see him trap his bottom lip with his teeth as he stares me out, never breaking eye contact.
I’m throbbing and wet watching the spectacle before me, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold off for much longer. He continues to stare, daring me to come join him, just as I did only a couple of weeks ago.
The moment he lets out a groan, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest, echoing off the tiles in the tiny bathroom, I’m a goner.
This man will be the death of me, but what a sweet death it will be.
∞∞∞
Once we've stopped off for some breakfast at the diner we went to last night, we take a walk around the town. We visit the house that used to belong to his grandparents, and all the places he loved to go as a little boy. It’s so beautiful here, I can see why Dwight loves it so much.
We take a quick detour into a small second-hand bookstore. I run my fingers across the spines, some of them broken and battered, but some still in as good a condition as when they were first published. There’s something comforting in being here, it’s homely.
I spot a book that stands out from the rest and I smile, picking it up. I look up to see Dwight a couple of aisles away, sifting through a stack of books and go to him.
“Find anything interesting?” I ask, wrapping my arms around him from behind, resting my head on his back.
“I found a first edition ofThe Scarlet Letter.”
I pull out the book that I found and hold it out to him.The Professorby Charlotte Bronte, and he laughs.
After we’ve spent another half an hour in the bookstore, we head out, making our way down the main street towards the lake at the back of our B&B.
Despite the bitter breeze that prickles at my skin, the sun is warm as we take a walk along the trail around the lake, the sunlight shimmering off the surface of the water like it’s made of a million tiny diamonds as the sun catches the ripples so perfectly. It reminds me of the colour of Dwight’s eyes.
I take out my phone and switch on the camera app. “Can I get a photo of us?”
“Sure, why not?” Dwight smiles.
I extend my arm as far as I can go, making sure than Dwight and I are both in the frame. Dwight wraps his arms around my middle from behind and rests his cheek against my mine, smiling as I take the photo. I keep snapping photos, one of me kissing him on the cheek, and one of him doing the same to me. We keep going until I have near on fifteen photos. It’s funny how something so trivial as a selfie can mean so much.
After I’m satisfied I have enough, we continue walking.
“It just occurred to me that I’ve never asked you why you became a professor?”
“I’m not sure. I loved college and studying English, I guess my mom kind of engrained her love of reading into me when I was young, and it just stuck. I got my undergrad degree and decided to stay on and study my graduate degree. Once I left, I guess I just missed it, so I applied as a TA, got experience and worked my way up,” he explains. “What are you hoping to do, post-graduation?”
“I’m not sure, I was thinking maybe a teacher too.”
“You’d make a great teacher, but why English Lit?”
“The typical reason every English student does. I love reading. I meant what I said that first day in class, it lets me escape from my life, for a short while I can almost pretend that I’m living within the story. I love how books make you feel. You can feel happy in one instance, only to be bawling your eyes out the next. I love the raw emotion, the realism...”
We stop walking, Dwight angling his body to face me. “All those stories you bury your head in, all those worlds you wished you could escape into… well, you don’t have to anymore. We can write our own story. You and me.”
I reach up onto my toes and press my lips to his. “I’d really like that.”
Chapter 41
Dwight
